Was I Born Shy? Social Anxiety & Learning to Unlearn Fear

Childhood Casts Its Shadow On Who We Become

Some years back, I said to my therapist, “I’ve struggled with social anxiety for as long as I can remember. Was I born like this?”

She looked me in the eye and said, “No. No one is born with shyness or social anxiety. Something must have happened to make you feel this way.”

Well, that was shocking to hear. I’d assumed fear was woven into my DNA, just like my cinnamon-colored hair and eyes.

My brain began scanning back over the years. What if my shyness, this instinct to disappear into the background, did have a beginning?

After so many years of believing I was born this way, I struggled to wrap my head around this new concept.

Had there been one big trigger, or was this anxiety monster composed of many little triggers? Could I ever really pinpoint its birth? All I could do was let my mind wander back.

Existing On The Fringes Of Life

Growing up, my family called me the shy one.

Yep, I was, but I was smart too. Dang, I loved to read, and I still do.

But I never raised my hand when the teacher asked a question in class. I always knew the answer, but I was scared to say it for some reason.

As time passed, some people assumed I was stuck up. I wasn’t. I was just scared. Always hanging back, always silent.

I’ll confess something. At one point, I almost started a blog called Adrift on the Fringes because that was my existence. I lived my life like a ghost hovering at the edges, watching, wishing I could jump in and fully embrace the world. Kinda sad, wouldn’t you say?

Yet, there were moments of joy.

I loved family reunions, where I talked to cousins, heard stories about old times, and learned about interesting relatives who had passed on. I sometimes asked a question or two at these gatherings, even though the fear lurked in the background.

As a kid, I ran wild with my neighborhood friends. Playing outside until darkness fell. I was exhausted yet so happy.

But school? Now, that was different. School terrified me. Stepping forward for anything felt impossible.

P.E. class, in particular, filled me with dread. I could run, jump, and climb through my neighborhood but felt terror in that gym. Every year, I’d come up with various ailments, so my mom would write me a note to excuse me from class. She never questioned it.

You’d think my parents would have noticed something was off, but they didn’t. Years later, as an adult, I told my dad how I had felt as a child, and he said, “I never knew.”

A Family Dynamic of Compliance

Mom ruled the roost at home. We ate dinner together every night, but it wasn’t the warm, gather-round-the-table sort of family meal. Dad was generally tired, and Mom was grumpy or fighting a migraine.

Other than summer vacations, which were generally spent visiting family, we rarely did things together. There were no cookouts, few outings, or spontaneous trips.

I have a sister ten years older than me. My mother’s daughter from a previous marriage.

After our mother passed, my sister and I talked about our shared lack of confidence. She wasn’t paralyzed by fear like I was, but she felt it, too.

We both agreed that our job was to behave well and reflect well on our mom. That was the unspoken rule. Her happiness was paramount.

I can still picture myself sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen, the perfectly quiet, well-behaved child. My aunts complimented my mother, saying I was so well-mannered and wishing their kids were the same.

Oh, how that puffed up my mother’s ego. But I wasn’t well-mannered out of some natural goodness. I was miserable. Paralyzed with fear.

I never ran outside with my cousins unless my mother told me to. I’d sit there, quietly reading my book, listening to the laughter just beyond the door, knowing that fun wasn’t part of my role. My job was to sit still, be pleasant, and make my mother look good.

I’ll always be digging for the exact cause of why I am the way I am. Until the day I die, I’ll wonder. Was it because my mother was domineering and my father lacked the energy to challenge her?

Because we were raised to be quiet, compliant, small? Is taking up too much space wrong for my sister and me?

Looking back at my childhood, I see the difference between my friends’ relationships with their parents and mine. Their parents advocated for them. They encouraged them to be bold and confident and to stand tall.

My mother had no such plans for us. We weren’t raised to be independent. We were her possessions, reflections of her standing in the world. My father? He didn’t have the strength to fight for anything different.

Carrying Fear into Adulthood

My childhood anxiety followed me into adulthood, developing into what I now recognize as agoraphobia. There’s so much I’ve missed out on simply because I couldn’t always win a fight with the fear monster.

If I retreat too long, agoraphobia sinks its tentacles into me, tightening its grip. The longer I stay inside, the harder it is to step out.

But I don’t want to live like this.

Therapy has helped me before. I know it’s likely time to return. I’ll push against the fear, force it back, and remind myself that it won’t win.

I’ll always wonder why this fear took root in me. How it crept in and spread before I even knew it was there. But one thing is sure: it has to be pruned constantly, or it will overtake my life.

Fear Is Learned So Let’s Unlearn It

Many people with social anxiety or childhood emotional trauma struggle with these same fears.

Every so often, I meet someone like me. And while it’s heartbreaking to see that same fear in another person, it’s also oddly comforting. Because the worst part of all this? Feeling alone.

Our society is so fragmented now, which is enormously devastating for people like me and all those who have struggled for years to step beyond our comfort zones.

People with social anxiety and childhood trauma need community and connection more than ever. We know this. But knowing and doing are two different things, aren’t they?

So, was I born shy?

No. Fear is learned. It’s reinforced. It creeps in unnoticed until it’s running the show one day.

But here’s the thing about fear, it can be unlearned.

Healing from childhood anxiety takes time, but I’m patient.

And fear?

Fear will not win.